


Phoenix

by StarMellon



Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M, between season 4/season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:15:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMellon/pseuds/StarMellon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While moving, Peter discovers an old obsession from Olivia's childhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phoenix

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in forever, so apologies. This was done for an anonymous prompt. It's complete for now - I don't know if I'll add anything to it.

Everything had slowed down recently. Or perhaps this was what it was like for people who worked in relatively normal jobs and lived relatively normal lives. Peter had to admit it was... nice. Nice and quiet. He had never thought he’d be so attracted to the idea. Only five years ago Peter would’ve scoffed, packed a single knapsack and left, bringing as little as he could to make survival more of a challenge, to see who just how many people he could con.

Settling down, buying a house, setting up a nursery; having Walter stop over with Olivia after the two were done at the lab, Walter buzzing with excitement about his grandchild and making gizmo after gizmo for them was all brand new. He had even taken whatever childhood toys of Peter’s he could find to set up in the nursery. The nursery Peter was slowly putting together.

Between Olivia’s pregnancy, the incident with Bell (which Peter preferred to not even think about. Seeing her lifeless body was... a little too much to bear), and the seemingly reduced number of fringe incidents, the team had mostly been relegated to desk work. Astrid was still recovering – technically, so was Olivia. Broyles seemed to be doing everything in his power to make sure the entire team got a long break.

The last Peter had talked to Astrid, she had informed him she was going on a long vacation with her father, to a cabin that the older man owned. Peter had wished her a good trip. That was nearly three weeks ago now.

Olivia spent most days with Walter in the lab. Walter doted on her while the two were alone, even though he had promised Nina a few experiments. Olivia confided to Peter that while she appreciated the gesture (especially since it was probably largely done out of guilt: the man did kill her, after all, even if he saved the world in the process) the whole thing was grating her nerves and she just wanted to get back to work. Broyles did relent, and allowed her to spend her spare time doing paperwork and going over cold cases, looking for evidence of missed fringe events to catalogue.

Peter, on the other hand, had made a point not to go into work since the Bell incident. He devoted most of his time to working on the new house – unpacking, painting, even building some furniture from scratch (sometimes even with Walter’s not-exactly-requested input). It kept his mind just busy enough that his anxiety level stayed down (and he stayed out of Olivia’s hair). Peter was determined to have everything done before Olivia’s later stages of pregnancy.

Moving boxes to the attic was probably Peter’s least favourite part, though. There were still some littering the living room floor, filled with trinkets that were too special to throw away. Or maybe would be useful later. Whatever, it was boring grunt work, the kind usually fixed by a charming smile and a few kind words.

As Peter couldn’t exactly con anyone into moving them for him, though, the man figured he should at least get it down now. The boxes had been sitting there for weeks. Being a seriously trip-hazard, they really needed to go.

The first couple were smaller, lighter boxes. Filled with items of Peter’s childhood Walter insisted on given to them. The third box, though, was a little larger, and heavy. Surprisingly heavy, actually. And unmarked. Was it Olivia’s? Peter didn’t recognize it at all.

Digging out his pocket knife, Peter sliced through the tape that kept the box closed. It had to be Olivia’s things, but...

...were those comics?

Pulling out some to get a closer look, Peter concluded that they were definitely comics. _Marvel comics_ , his brain helpfully supplied.

X-men comics, to be more specific. Olivia actually collected X-men comics?

He found himself laughing. Had she done that in his timeline, too? Did she remember that she collected them, then? Wouldn’t comics about humans with special powers that were shunned by society hit a little too close to home?

Or maybe that was the point. Peter’s brain whirled, trying to find the solution to this new problem. Little Olivia, traumatized by what the cortexiphan trials brought her. So traumatized, in fact, that she had repressed the entire incident. Forced it deep into the depths of her subconscious, creating a blind spot in her eidetic memory. Alone and hiding from the oppressive ghost of her stepfather. Maybe this had been just the thing that little girl needed. Stories about mutated humans with powers that could save lives, just as she had wanted to do.

Peter placed the comics next to the box and dug through some more. It was really filled with comics, all of them in excellent condition. Probably hundreds, if not thousands of dollars worth. That was if Olivia wanted to sell them, though.

At the bottom of the box was something distinctly different from a comic, though; an old notebook It was small, pink, with little hearts. Hard to believe Olivia would’ve picked it out for herself, but her name was clearly written in child’s writing in the corner: Olivia Dunham.

Flipping through it made it very clear that little Olivia had a favourite character. _Olivia = Jean-Grey Summers. Olivia Grey Summers. Phoenix to the rescue!_ Scattered as well were doodles and other ramblings. Peter felt his face break into a wide grin again. Oh Liv.

The sharp vibrating from his phone brought him out of his impromptu exploration, through, and Peter dug it out of his pocket. Taking one look at the number, he answered, “Hey, hun. How’s everything?”...


End file.
